


glowed like burning coal

by elithewho



Category: Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, F/M, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Suicidal Thoughts, Touch-Starved, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 04:04:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6640720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elithewho/pseuds/elithewho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Llewyn could write a song about his life, it would be the kind played on a sidewalk by a homeless bum. A sad song, a circular tragedy always referring back to the chorus. On repeat, forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	glowed like burning coal

**Author's Note:**

> I just can't get enough Llewyn/Mary Sue feels. It's so self-indulgent, but who even cares? So many thanks to Morgan for editing and giving me ideas and being there for encouragement!

If Llewyn could write a song about his life, it would be the kind played on a sidewalk by a homeless bum. So, it would be perfect addition to his repertoire. A sad song, a circular tragedy always referring back to the chorus. On repeat, forever.

He was mostly playing on sidewalks these days anyway. Or in the subway, when the weather was poor. With his guitar case in front of him he could usually make a few bucks by the end of the day. Enough for a coffee and maybe a sandwich. Something to hold him over for the next day. Of course he was still playing at The Gaslight from time to time, but it paid as little as ever. And none of his old friends or acquaintances wanted to see him. And he couldn’t really blame them.

Sometimes he wondered if his life would even be different if he had a place of his own and a reliable source of income. Maybe he’d be warmer. Have less aches and pains. But he wouldn’t feel any more a part of the world that circled around him. He wouldn’t feel close to anyone in it. And he didn’t want to be. His whole life was a rat chasing its tail, only he was the tail, his existence the endlessly spinning motion. Always being chased, round and round in a circle until his empty, meaningless life just gave up from exhaustion and collapsed. He couldn’t imagine getting anything meaningful from a career, a house, a family. It all felt hollow. 

So he spent his days trying to collect spare change from kind strangers, whether it was on the street or in a café. He slept on the street, in a dry part of the subway, on a park bench if he was really desperate. If he was lucky he could secure a couch somewhere, hit the YMCA for a semi-hot shower. His ability to convince some acquaintance to let him spend the night was dwindling though. He couldn’t seem to stop lashing out at anyone dumb enough to help him. Their kindness just made him feel even more wretched.

There was a diner outside of the Village he liked to visit. He didn’t usually run into people he knew there, which was part of the appeal. Sometimes he spent hours there, just burning through the cigs he wasted money on and nursing endless cups of coffee. Some of the older waitresses weren’t so friendly because he couldn’t tip well, but the younger ones were a little nicer. Probably because they felt bad for him. 

There was Llewyn, nodding off in one of the booths when he heard a clink in front of him. He opened his eyes a fraction and saw a slice of cherry pie on the Formica table. He looked up, recognizing one of the younger waitresses he saw from time to time, one of the nicer ones.

She smiled kindly, her grey eyes crinkling charmingly. Her nametag said “Caroline” in neat, curling script.

“You look hungry. Do you like pie?”

Llewyn blinked at her, trying for a smile. It probably looked more like a grimace.

“Thanks,” he muttered, mentally calculating how much money he’d have left after this and the coffee.

She leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper, “It’s on me.”

Llewyn didn’t know what to say to that. Caroline only smiled warmly and walked back to the counter.

The pie was good. Llewyn couldn’t remember the last time he had dessert. He didn’t like wasting his money on something that wouldn’t keep him full. It was good, though. Sweet and tart with a buttery, flaky crust. He cleaned his plate in seconds and when he looked up he caught Caroline’s eye at the counter. She winked at him and he swallowed hard, his chest suddenly feeling tight. He managed a taut smile and then braced himself for more interaction as she walked over.

“Good?” she asked.

“Delicious,” he said honestly and she smiled as though she had baked it herself. “How much?”

“I told you, it’s on me,” she said with a small laugh. “You looked hungry.”

Llewyn frowned, hand digging around his pocket for his small collection of coins and bills.

“I’m not some bum with a sign begging for food,” he said, meaner than he meant.

Caroline’s kind face fell and Llewyn felt worse than ever.

“I was trying to be nice,” she said in a small voice, tone clipped with irritation. She crossed her arms and Llewyn wanted to kick himself in the head.

She walked away and Llewyn groaned and rubbed his face, feeling like more of an asshole than usual. Why did he always fuck things up? This is exactly why he’d be sleeping in the subway again.

And that night, with his coat pulled up to his chin, legs folded to his chest, struggling to get warm, he couldn’t get it out of his head. Maybe he didn’t have a sign begging for money like some of the other bums, but he was still a bum. Just drifting through existence with no purpose. He used to think that was settling down with a normal job, but what was he doing now? He wasn’t achieving anything.

Here he was, a piece of pie making him question his entire existence. Llewyn was finding new depths of being pathetic every day. 

 

Llewyn didn’t go back to the diner for a few days. He wandered the streets, played a night at The Gaslight and split the basket. At least he had a few dollars to his name. He bought a hot pretzel and counted it a victory.

Which was sad. When he was finished, licking his fingers for the last traces of spicy mustard, he made his way back to the diner. Maybe it would be Caroline’s day off.

But she was there of course, her eyes sliding over him as he sat down in a booth and then back to the coffee she was pouring. Llewyn found himself blushing self-consciously and felt like an idiot.

He got a coffee and warmed his hands on the hot mug. Sometimes he forgot how cold he was until something warm came along to remind him. His fingers felt stiff and he shuddered, a sudden chill going through him.

A few hours later, he was still there, letting the warmth seep into him, making his eyelids heavy. He hadn’t been getting more than a couple hours of sleep at a time for weeks. Being so comfortable was making him sleepy.

“Did you want anything else?” said a soft voice, barely enough to rouse him from his doze.

Llewyn blinked rapidly at whoever spoke and saw Caroline, arms folded again. She was pretty, he thought. Pale, but pretty. Her turquoise and beige uniform didn’t flatter her coloring, but she looked nice anyway. Soft and kind. Even when she was looking at him in annoyance.

“I’m OK,” he mumbled, hunching over his coffee in embarrassment. He shrugged, trying for self-deprecating humor, “Barely have a penny to my name.” It just sounded kind of sad and pathetic.

Caroline gave him a look bordering on pity and Llewyn felt his expression turn mulish.

“Well,” she said with a soft sigh, “I could provide some cardboard and a pencil if you want to make a sign.”

She said it with such genuine intent that Llewyn looked up in surprise. She was smiling, the corner of her mouth twitching. Llewyn looked down again, scratching his neck self-consciously.

“Ha,” he breathed. He used to be able to take a joke. Maybe he still could.

“I shouldn’t have been presumptuous,” Caroline continued, seriously this time. He looked up and saw her biting her lip. Llewyn felt himself blush for some stupid reason.

“It’s fine,” he said shortly. “I’m an asshole.”

“But a hungry one, maybe,” she said cheerfully. “Do you want a slice of pie?”

“Nah,” said Llewyn, managing a genuine smile that felt strange on his face, like he was stretching an underused muscle.

Caroline smiled back and it made her face so bright and open that Llewyn found himself looking away, blinking, like he had stared too long at the sun. 

The next few times Llewyn dropped by, Caroline was there to greet him with a smile. Then it seemed like he was going there every day just because. She wouldn’t be there all the time, but occasionally she’d start her shift when he’d already been there a few hours and he’d stay a few hours more. Or some days she wouldn’t be in at all. Which was fine, really, she wasn’t the only reason he went there. But it made him feel extra lonely when she wasn’t there, and then even more pathetic.

Usually, Llewyn preferred to be left alone. He didn’t like people bothering him, he was better off left to his own thoughts. But for some reason he liked it when Caroline talked to him. She gently teased him and told him about her day, annoying customers she had to deal with or her family getting on her nerves. She never pried into his life, never asked him what he did or where he lived. Easy questions with answers he didn’t much like giving. But her easy candor make him remember a time when he actually liked being sociable. Strange as it was to imagine, he actually had friends once upon a time.

It was hard to call Caroline a friend, but he liked being around her. He had hoped that whatever went on between them would go unnoticed or at least unremarked upon.

That was until one afternoon when he entered the diner and caught the eye of one of the older waitresses, Doris.

“Caroline isn’t in today, her sister is ill,” she said by way of greeting.

“Oh,” was all Llewyn could muster, caught off guard. He hated to think of all the waitresses gossiping about him. Then he thought about Caroline. He hoped it wasn’t serious.

He spent the whole day feeling moody and depressed. He had nothing to do to occupy his mind, nothing but play. He sat on the curb and strummed away, not able to summon the energy to sing. He got less spare change that way, but he didn’t even care.

 

He avoided the diner for the next few days but he had fallen into such a routine that he felt adrift without it. More adrift than usual, at least. And there wasn’t anywhere else he felt comfortable sitting around in all day.

When he finally skulked back in, he saw Caroline immediately. She was wiping down the counter and when she looked up and saw him, her whole face brightened. Llewyn gave her a little wave and went to sit down in his usual booth. She came to greet him, bearing a mug and the coffee pot.

“How’s your sister?” he asked cautiously after their mutual greeting.

“Oh, she’ll be fine,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I think she likes the attention, personally.”

She gave him a sly look as if she knew he’d asked after her. Which he hadn’t. Llewyn frowned into his mug.

“I missed seeing you,” she said, and Llewyn looked up. He swore he could see a faint blush in her cheeks. But she walked away before he could respond.

Llewyn stayed longer than he usually did, hours and hours. It was mostly because he fell asleep, his head pillowed on his folded arm. He hadn’t really meant to, and usually the waitresses would shake him awake and gently chide him if he nodded off. But he felt his eyes closing and then he was waking up, the city dark and rainy outside the window beside him.

There was a crick in his neck and he groaned in pain as he straightened up, his head still foggy with sleep. He wiped drool from the corners of his mouth and rubbed his eyes hard.

“Good thing you’re awake, I was about to find a blanket for you.”

Llewyn looked up and saw Caroline. She smiled kindly and sat down across from him. She’d never done that before.

“I’m about to close up,” she said simply.

Llewyn looked around and saw they were alone. He was the only customer and the other staff must have gone home.

“You could have woken me up,” he grumbled, a bit embarrassed for having slept so long.

“Maybe I like watching you sleep,” she said, smiling behind her hand. Her eyes glinted at him from across the table.

Llewyn ducked his head, blushing stupidly now.

“I’ve known you for a while now and I’ve never seen you play,” she said, gesturing to his guitar case, propped up next to the booth.

Llewyn frowned, not knowing what to say to that.

“Do I have to be a paying customer?” she asked, tone light and teasing. 

He had to laugh at that.

“Just drop by the West Fourth Street Station, I’m there all week,” he mumbled and she actually laughed. Llewyn found himself smiling too, absurdly proud that he could make her laugh.

She looked at him and bit her lip, eyes shining. Llewyn had to look away again, his cheeks hot. They lapsed into a moment of silence and Llewyn was unprepared for Caroline to stand up and slide into the booth next to him.

“Here, I want to show you something,” she said. Llewyn could barely register what she was pulling from her apron pocket because she was so close to him. He hadn’t been really close to anyone in… a long time.

When Llewyn was able to focus again, he saw a little book in her hand, slightly battered and worn, probably from a second hand shop.

“It’s Petrarch,” she said. “Do you like poetry?”

“Sure,” he said, his voice suddenly feeling choked. She had taken down her hair and he could faintly smell her perfume. It made his chest feel tight.

 _“Oh blessed be the day, the month, the year, the season and the time, the hour, the instant, the gracious countryside, the place where I was struck by those two lovely eyes that bound me,”_ she read aloud. “Isn’t that lovely? I thought it was lovely.”

“Yeah,” Llewyn agreed. She was sitting close enough that her leg was pressed lightly against his and it was hard to focus.

She turned to him and smiled fondly and Llewyn felt so nervous, it was like his first time on stage again. His arm was bumping against her arm because she was so close and he fidgeted, flinging it over the back of the booth to get it out of the way. A second later he realized how suggestive that was, how he had basically slung his arm around her shoulder. This only made her slide closer. 

“Hi,” she whispered shyly, voice low despite how alone they were. Llewyn could hear the rain hitting the window beside him and thought drearily of where he could spend the night and stay dry.

“Hey,” he muttered back. He found it hard to keep looking into her eyes because she was so close. He felt so exposed and vulnerable, like she was looking right into his soul.

She smelled like warm vanilla, soft and light. He could almost feel the warmth of her skin. They were barely touching, but it was more intimacy than he’d had in months. Maybe even years. Which might have been why he found himself getting hard.

Llewyn went very still, not daring to move an inch. He tried to steady his breathing, but she felt so good next to him. She sighed and Llewyn could feel his heart beating, hard. He had never been one for cuddling or being so affectionate with people, even his lovers and he was caught off guard by his reaction. She was barely touching him. It was hardly even romantic, practically platonic. But he was still aroused, his body suddenly tight and warm and painfully aware of every small movement Caroline made next to him, her soft breathing, the glint of her eyes in the harsh, fluorescent light. 

It felt like an eternity of silence before Caroline shifted slightly, turning towards him. Llewyn felt like he might combust. He couldn’t be near her anymore, he was going to embarrass himself. This is why he was better off alone, on his own, without anyone intruding. He pulled back, all but pushing her physically away from him. Caroline looked up, startled and hurt. 

“What’s wrong?” she said, voice tight. “Did I do something…”

Her voice died as Llewyn nudged her away, pushing her out of the booth so he could make his escape. He felt claustrophobic and anxious, his heart beating too fast for comfort, sweat popping up over his forehead, making him itch. He grabbed his stuff in a fumbling hurry, face burning and as he tried to put as much distance between them as possible. 

He only caught a furtive glimpse of Caroline’s face as he hurried out the door. She looked pale and stricken and he felt a punch of guilt in his gut that only made him run faster, feet slipping on the dark, rain slicked sidewalk.

 

Llewyn stared at the sky, at the dark rainclouds billowing. The rain had stopped, if only briefly but his clothes were still soaked through. He was reclined on a park bench, propped up by his bag, not caring that the wooden slats were puddled with rainwater because he was already sodden and cold. He had his guitar out, idly plucking the strings as he tried not to think about Caroline.

Thoughts of her, at least, kept him warm. The embarrassment and guilt still made him blush at the memory, but it had been only yesterday. And there was more, a hot, sickly ball of longing in his chest that made him want to crawl into a hole and never come out. It was fitting that the sky was gray and brooding, that the light was dull and lifeless, and he felt like an absurd, melodramatic version of himself. Pouting in a public park like he was fourteen again and suffering from his first bout of lovesickness.

It was pathetic, but Llewyn didn’t have the mental energy to beat himself into shape. Or the physical energy. His thoughts had been churning so relentlessly he hadn’t slept at all. And being soaked in rain hadn’t helped.

And he still thought about Caroline. Her warm body next to his, how she might turn to him for a kiss. He felt a pull in his groin at the very thought. Llewyn had never considered himself to be lonely. He liked being alone. But maybe he had only gotten used to it. But he was lonely. He had been lonely for a long time.

“Hey!” 

The shout from nearby startled Llewyn so bad he nearly fell sideways off the bench. He looked up and saw the unmistakable shapes of two policemen approaching. Llewyn scrambled for his case, stowing his guitar quickly so he could make a quick getaway if he needed.  

“Hey, what’re you doing?” one of them barked, thumb tucked into his belt right next to his nightstick.

“Nothing,” Llewyn mumbled, fumbling with his bag and case, getting unsteadily to his feet.

“We’ve had a lot of complaints about bums bothering nice ladies lately,” the other one said. They looked nearly identical in Llewyn’s eyes, both of them burly and mean with their ominously glinting badges.

“I was just heading home…” Llewyn tried evasively, hoping to slink away without trouble. But the two cops looked desperate to pick a fight.

“You got ID?” one of them grunted.

“Really, I don’t want trouble,” Llewyn said meekly, hoping they’d get bored and leave him alone.

“Personally I’m sick and tired of pot smoking, long haired scum like you ruining decent neighborhoods,” the other said in a low, threatening tone. His partner took out his nightstick.

Llewyn had never been a fast runner. Sure, he’d been pretty fit in his merchant marine days, but he was tired and hungry and cold and had been tired and hungry and cold for so long that he hardly recalled being anything else. Either way, turning tail in a sudden panic was the last thing he should have done in that moment and he’d barely made it a few steps before he was yanked from behind and tossed to the ground like a ragdoll. He didn’t even try to get up. He just lay there stunned until he felt the blow of a nightstick to his head like a firecracker of pain, momentarily blinding him. His vision was still swimming with bright white sunbursts when he felt a blow to his stomach, following immediately by another. Llewyn could do nothing but curl into a ball and wait for it to end. It felt like ages and by the time he registered that he wasn’t being hit anymore, the two cops were long gone.

Clearly they were just looking to have a little fun with an easy target. And Llewyn must have looked perfect, a wet, bedraggled bum on his last legs. Gingerly, Llewyn rolled over, assessing the damage by how much pain his various body parts were in. His head was throbbing and he felt a sticky wetness on his face. His ribs felt broken and he groaned in agony, a whine of pain that sounded pathetic even to himself. 

With an incredible amount of effort, Llewyn got to his feet. Maybe his ribs weren’t broken after all. He could still stand, even if every small movement was torturous. He tucked his arm close to his body, hunched over in pain as he fumbled blindly for his belongings. His legs shook under him and trying to pick up both his bag and guitar case was too difficult to endure. He collapsed back to earth in a clumsy heap, blinding pain making his vision blur.

For a long time, Llewyn stayed where he was, listening to the sad wheezing of his own breaths and contemplating the depressing mess his life had become. After what felt like several weeks of painful misery, the dark gray clouds became even more dark and menacing and Llewyn felt the cold pelt of more rain on his face. Feeling beyond wretched, Llewyn struggled to his feet. Pain surged to life again, and an unnerving stiffness in all his limbs. Gasping for air and moving slow as a crippled old man, Llewyn sought shelter from the rain which was steadily picking up.

He moved so slowly, needing to stop and master himself to fight through the pain, he was dripping wet again by the time he made it to the subway. Unfortunately, everyone else on the street had a similar idea and Llewyn was jostled painfully more than once as he tried to descend the stairs without falling down face first. 

By the time he reached the bottom, the surge of people seeking to get out of the rain had diminished. He found a bench to fall on to and hissed in pain as his bruised ribs screamed in protest. He was shivering hard now, weighed down by his sodden clothes and painful weakness in every part of his body. He coughed weakly and the shuddering in his fragile chest made his whole body ache.

Llewyn hadn’t cried in a long time. He hadn’t even cried when Mike jumped off the George Washington Bridge. The numb, chilly emptiness hadn’t really left him since he heard the news and maybe he liked it that way. It was better than crying, snot-nosed, tearing his hair out like he wanted to sometimes. No feeling at all was better than being in that much pain.

“Hey, are you gonna buy a token?” said a gruff voice, and Llewyn inclined his head.

A rotund MTA worker was eyeing with distinct distrust. Llewyn shook his head slowly and began the painful process of getting to his feet and walking back up the stairs.

 

It was a wonder she even recognized him. Llewyn must have cut a pathetically disheveled figure, hunched over the sidewalk as he was. The blood on his face had dried to an itchy crust and his damp clothes had left him shaking to the bone, unable to get warm.

“Llewyn?”

He thought he might be dreaming it at first, because she couldn’t be real. He opened his eyes a sliver and saw Caroline looking down at him, worry etched all over her pretty face.

“Hey,” he muttered, managing a weak half smile. 

“What happened?” she said in distress, kneeling down to look him in the face.

She was wearing a butter yellow day dress, her hair pinned up neatly, smelling like warm vanilla and cinnamon. Llewyn was damp and moldy, crusted with blood and days old grime. 

“It’s nothing,” Llewyn said weakly, but she didn’t look convinced.

“You need a hospital,” she said, her voice getting more strained with panic.

“No really, I don’t,” Llewyn urged, desperate for her to leave him alone to his miserable fate.

Caroline frowned at him, her brow knotted in concern.

“Come one, get up,” she said firmly, taking him by the arm gently, but with firmness.

“Don’t worry about me,” Llewyn mumbled and it sounded pathetic and futile. 

“I’m taking you back to my place,” she said firmly, like the decision was final. “It’s not far.”

 

Far was a pretty relative term. It probably would have taken no time at all for Llewyn to walk to Caroline’s place had been perfectly healthy, but in his present condition it took absolute ages, leaning heavily on her shoulder the entire time, stumbling over his own feet and nearly falling face first on the sidewalk a few times. Caroline struggled to keep him upright and hold his bag and guitar case and he felt so weak and useless that he wished he had fought harder to let her leave him on that sidewalk. But he didn’t have much fight left him anymore.

And Caroline lived on the fourth floor, of course. Without a working elevator, it was a rough climb up the stairs and Llewyn wondered if they’d make it at all.

Against all odds, they made it to Caroline’s apartment. It wasn’t the nicest building or the nicest part of town, but she kept her place neat and clean, decorated by charming touches like pale yellow curtains and tidy stacks of books.

Llewyn expected her to dump him on the couch, but she was steering him into the bedroom before he could protest. He fell heavily on the bed, so worn out that he seemed to sink into the soft mattress immediately. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laid on a bed.

He groaned in equal parts pain and pleasure and Caroline hovered over him in concern.

“Where does it hurt?” she asked anxiously and Llewyn gestured vaguely to his ribs and face.

Caroline left and reappeared moments later with a first aid kit.

“Let me clean your face first,” she said, pulling out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and gauze.

Llewyn hissed in pain as she swabbed his face with cotton gauze, the alcohol stinging mightily where the skin was still split. Caroline worked efficiently but gently, her soft hands careful not to hurt him more than necessary.

“It’s mostly healed by now,” she said in a low voice, and Llewyn was very aware of how close she was. “And it doesn’t look infected, which is good.”

Caroline frowned in concentration as she wiped the rest of the blood off his face and Llewyn admired her steady hands, the freckles on her nose, the dainty curve of her ear.

“Let me look at your ribs now,” she said. “Sit up and I’ll help you take your shirt off.”

Llewyn dearly wished he wasn’t blushing quite as hard as he felt like he was and Caroline just smiled.

“It’s OK, don’t be shy,” she said with a small laugh. “My mother was a nurse. I just want to make sure nothing’s broken.”

He relented, ashamed all over again by how dirty he was. It was a trial sitting upright and getting out of each layer of damp clothing. But by the time he was stripped down to his white undershirt, he felt better. It was warm inside her apartment and he hadn’t felt warm in such a long time.

And then she was easing him down onto the bed and pushing up his shirt to feel his ribs. Llewyn hissed in pain as she touched tender, bruised skin but the sharp pains had mostly faded. Her hands slide over his torso to gently press the other side of his body and Llewyn bit his lip, her soft touch making his body heat up, and he was intensely aware of her body and how close it was to him. 

He barely even registered her sound of approval as she pulled away, dragging his shirt back down. 

“Looks good,” she said, patting his arm gently. “Nothing’s broken, just a little bruised. You look tired, though.”

“Yeah,” was all Llewyn could manage, incapable of articulating just how tired he was and in what ways.

“I’ll let you sleep,” she said kindly and Llewyn wanted to protest, tell her she didn’t need to give him her bed, that he would be fine with the couch, but he couldn’t seem to make his voice work.

Caroline was already at the door. She smiled at him so warmly that Llewyn felt something open up inside him, like a cave-in occurring where the ground had gotten thin and treacherous and fell inwards to a hollowness that had been well hidden. He lifted his hand to wave feebly, because he couldn’t summon his voice to thank her. 

 

Llewyn slept so deeply and for so long he felt groggy and disoriented when he finally crawled back to consciousness, thirsty and lightheaded. He was naked, his slightly damp boxers and undershirt lying crumpled on the floor. He must have woken up at least briefly but he couldn’t remember it.

Llewyn rolled over, feeling a hot wash of shame engulf him. This was Caroline’s bed, he was naked in her bed. Naked and unwashed. But he felt amazingly rested. He must have slept hours and hours and he hadn’t slept uninterrupted for so long in weeks. Maybe even months. It had been an endless series of couches after Mike died, and then the street. Caroline’s bed was deliciously soft and comfortable. He couldn’t tell if all beds were this nice and he had just forgotten or if Caroline’s was especially luxurious. 

And he couldn’t seem to get out of it. He was so warm and relaxed, he could barely feel the pain from his ribs anymore. Or any of his other aches and pains that had seemed to follow him like an unfriendly ghost. He just lay there, contented for such a long time, he was nearly drifting off again when he heard a knock on the door.

He snapped awake with a grunt and shouted, “Yeah?” sleepily.

Caroline entered, looking clean and fresh and so lovely that Llewyn felt his heart constrict. Blushing, he pulled the sheets up to his chin, wishing he had scooped his clothes off the floor, where they looked so out of place in her pristine room.

“How do you feel?” she said, approaching him easily and sitting on the edge of the bed. She had a bottle of coke and a sandwich wrapped in brown paper. “I brought you something to eat.”

“I’m great,” he mumbled, struck a little dumb by how kind she was being. “Thanks.” Then added, “You didn’t have to,” after a beat.

“I don’t mind,” she said softly. “You can take a shower too, if you want.”

Blushing, Llewyn dropped his head. He knew he must look like shit. And smelled to match.

“Thanks,” he muttered as Caroline stood up briskly and picked up his discarded clothes.

“There are towels in a bathroom,” she said. Then she paused and looked at him, eyes soft. She leaned over and gently stroked his exposed forearm, just the lightest touch that made Llewyn shiver, grateful for the excess of blankets around his waist. Then she smiled, and left him alone.

 

After his meal of lukewarm coke and pastrami sandwich on rye that seemed to taste better than anything he’d eaten lately, Llewyn headed for the bathroom. His avoided the mirror consciously, letting the water in the shower run until it was scalding hot and then climbing in.

Llewyn wasn’t sure there was a more blissful feeling than a boiling hot shower after going so long without one. The water pressure was a little weak and it stung on the cut on his forehead but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Groaning in pleasure, Llewyn rested his head on the cool tile and let the hot, steaming water pour deliciously over his back. He just stood there for a good while, letting the water heat him up to his bones and turn his skin mottled red and bright pink.

He grabbed her bar of Ivory soap and lathered up, amazed at how good it felt to rid himself of so much grime. He wanted to stay under the spray for as long as possible, but he felt guilty for wasting her hot water, for taking advantage of her kindness.

Llewyn dried himself with one of her soft, fluffy towels and then with distinct dread, faced his reflection in the mirror. He wiped away the condensation, revealing his pale, drawn face. Despite the hours of sleep, he still had dark circles under his eyes and he was starting to look almost gaunt in his cheeks. The cut on his head wasn’t as bad as he had pictured, but it was still bruised and ugly. He was thinner than ever, and he dragged his hand down his torso, over the mass of yellowing bruises on his side, under which his ribs were visible. Llewyn sighed, wondering if Caroline had a habit of taking in strays. That if he walked out into her apartment he’d be greeted by a collection of street mutts and cats without tails that she had rescued from the sewer.

Wondering if he’d ever stop feeling sorry for himself, Llewyn ran a hand through his hair, thick curls bedraggled by water. His hair was getting a little long, his beard getting rather scraggly and unkempt looking. On a whim, Llewyn opened her cabinet, taking in her aspirin bottles and vials of lotions and perfumes and other confusingly feminine products. But there was also a safety razor, with a removable blade. Llewyn held it in his hand, considering. 

He thought briefly, if stupidly, if he should just pop the razor and lay it against his wrist. It was a fleeting thought and he immediately thought better of it. He couldn’t kill himself in Caroline’s bathroom. He couldn’t do that to her. Since Mike went off the bridge, Llewyn had had more than just the passing thought of following suit. But he couldn’t. Not like this.

Instead, he grabbed the soap and lathered up his face. He was due for a change. Long overdue.

 

Llewyn emerged with the towel tightly wound around his hips, cheeks stinging a little from razor burn, but feeling so clean and fresh it was a little overwhelming. But he had no clothes. He peeked into the bedroom and found everything he had been wearing, everything that had gotten soaked in rain and hadn’t been laundered in ages, folded neatly on the bed, fresh and smelling like detergent. 

He felt profoundly guilty for everything Caroline had done for him. Gave him a place to sleep, patched his wounds, fed him, did his laundry. And he was so pathetic he needed the help in the first place. Still, his clothes felt different and new when he put them on, cleaner than they had been in a good long time.

Caroline was in her living room, curled up on the sofa with a book. She wore casual capri pants and a white blouse, her hair loose and flowing. Her eyes lit up when she saw him, and Llewyn shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly self-conscious.

“Look at you!” she exclaimed, almost immediately running to him and laying a hand on his freshly shaven cheek. “A new man.”

Llewyn struggled to find words, a little overwhelmed by her sudden touch. Her fingers dragged down his jaw, very light but enough to make his face heat up, his heartbeat pick up. He wanted to lean into her touch.

“Thanks for letting me crash here,” he said as her hand fell away. He was both relieved and disappointed.

“Don’t mention it,” she said. “I could never leave a friend alone like that.”

Right. Llewyn knew she pitied him and he felt embarrassed, ashamed of his deep longing and of his sorry state that made pity her only possible feeling toward him. A dozen rude or careless remarks came to mind, but Llewyn bit his tongue. He had been an asshole to people trying to help him for too long and it only made things worse. And her smile was so beautiful that he couldn’t stand crushing it, like the very first snowdrops to push through the earth in early spring.

“I’m off today,” she said brightly. “What do you want to do?”

“I’ll just grab my stuff and get going,” he said. He had imposed on her long enough.

But her face fell.

“Oh,” she said rather sadly. It was like she wanted nothing more than to spend the day with him. “I can’t let you go yet,” she said, grabbing his arm. “You’re wounded, I have to look after you!”

Llewyn could tell by the twinkle in her eye that she was teasing him, but he didn’t mind. And he found he did want to stay. Going back out there to the cold, miserable world was not appealing in the slightest. Caroline’s apartment was warm and cozy and she was looking at him with a pleading look, lightened by a teasing smile that tugged at his heart.

“OK,” he said, crumbling almost immediately. “It would be nice to just… stay here. With you. If you don’t mind.” He scratched the back of his neck, uncomfortable with his honesty.

Caroline brightened immediately. She looked absolutely thrilled to spend the day cooped up inside with him.

 

The rain had continued to trickle down anyway, the sky gray and miserable. It turned out Caroline had a nice record collection, and a little stash of grass tucked away.

“A nice girl like you?” Llewyn muttered, pretending to be scandalized.

Caroline blushed and bit her lip, smile mischievous.

“You’d be surprised, Mr. Davis.”

And it was Llewyn’s turn to blush. He kept wondering why he was acting like a shy schoolboy around her, but he actually knew the answer. She was pretty and lively and just looking at her lean over her box of records to choose another one could make him hard. And she seemed to like him for some baffling reason.

Llewyn had never really been the most affectionate person. Looking back on his longest romantic relationship, they had been better friends than lovers. Diane wasn’t a very emotional person either, practically pushing him away after lovemaking and shrugging him off if he tried to hold her. They had liked each other of course, but he hadn’t even broached the topic of living together before she got into trouble, because he hadn’t really wanted to. And then of course, it ended, in a way much worse than he had even imagined at the time. And Mike. Whatever he had had with Mike was hard for him to even think about. They were roommates, partners, and even their closest friends never commented on the single bed in their apartment because it just wasn’t mentioned. Their affection was restrained, unspoken, reserved for the nighttime when it was easier to allow themselves to relax. And Mike had so much shit going on in his head that Llewyn had had no idea about, even after he had jumped, ending whatever inner turmoil had made living impossible.

And Llewyn had had his short lived flings, his one night stands. Whatever the fuck he had had with Jean. Sometimes he thought he loved her, but maybe he only loved an idea of her. The foolish thought that she might have more time for him than she ever did. They did their thing, quick and dirty and in secret, on her couch or in the alley behind The Gaslight and she was always furious with him afterwards, as if she hadn’t been the one to initiate. They hardly even kissed.

So now, on a different girl’s couch, Llewyn was a little alarmed at how badly he wanted to take Caroline by the arm and pull her into a hug. Just hold her close, feel her warm body, smell her hair, kiss her on the lips until he couldn’t breathe. If he could just hold her, maybe it would be enough. But he didn’t make any sort of move. He kept his hands to himself, finding himself speechless with emotion at the smallest brush of her hand as she passed him the lighter. When she grabbed his hand to exclaim over her favorite song coming on, Llewyn swallowed back a lump in his throat, chest tight.

“I want to hear you play,” she said after they had shared a light supper of pasta with butter.

Llewyn didn’t answer right away, busying himself with putting their dishes in the sink. Usually he hated the pressure to play for his friends, to be the performing monkey. But this was Caroline. She was different.

“OK,” he said and her face lit up, bright with singular happiness.

He felt oddly nervous getting out his guitar and having her sit there and watch him. It was like playing for Bud Grossman all over again. Maybe that was why he chose the song he did.

Just like Grossman, Caroline was very quiet as he sang about Queen Jane and her tragic death. Llewyn couldn’t look at her, slipping into his performance mindset where nothing existed except him and his guitar. He just let the music flow through him, bringing out the emotions he couldn’t or didn’t know how to talk about when he wasn’t playing. After he was done he looked over, remembering with bitter clarity Grossman’s easy dismissal of his entire life. 

Caroline had tears on her face. Llewyn only stared, caught off guard and unsure what to do. She sniffed, wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater.

“Sorry,” she muttered thickly. “Don’t mind me. That was beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Llewyn replied, so eloquently, strumming absently to occupy his hands. He was suddenly more nervous than he had ever been on stage.

Caroline smiled through her tears and touched his hand. His palm began to sweat. 

“Thank you for playing for me,” she said softly. “I know you didn’t really want to.”

Llewyn shrugged, uncomfortable at her vulnerability and honesty. She didn’t let go of his hand.

 

After Llewyn had washed the dishes and tidied the kitchen because it was the least that he could do, he watched Caroline stifle a yawn and fidgeted with the dishtowel.

“I don’t mind the couch,” he said, already guilty enough for taking her bed the night before.

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “We can share.”

“Really,” he insisted, more than just guilt making him nervous. “I’m used to couches.”

“My couch isn’t comfortable,” she said. “I would know.”

She was smirking, but Llewyn looked away, ashamed all over again.

“What, you don’t want to sleep with me? You’ll hurt my feelings.”

Llewyn knew she was teasing him, but he still felt a hot blush on his face and he quickly turned away to hide his burning cheeks.

“OK, if you don’t mind,” he finally said, not wanting to argue with her. And a big part of him really did want to sleep with her, in every way that implied. But he was afraid. He hated to admit his cowardice, but it was true.

Llewyn used the bathroom first, brushing his teeth with a blob of toothpaste on his finger. Then he got into bed, wrapping himself tight in the blankets and hoping he could stay turned to the window and she wouldn’t notice if he got any embarrassing erections while sleeping next to her.

She emerged in a warm cloud of vanilla, skin pink, hair damp and fragrant. Llewyn had been imagining all kinds of torturously flimsy, see through nighties but she was wearing normal flannel pajamas. Not at all the alluring sex kitten look, but somehow she still looked gorgeous. So gorgeous that Llewyn had to turn away, blushing all over again.

Caroline got under the covers and Llewyn was struck by how narrow the bed really was. It had seemed perfectly adequate for two people before, but now she was warm and solid beside him, and if he pushed back just a fraction, he’d be flush against her.

“Night, Llewyn,” Caroline whispered as she switched off the light.

“Night,” he said back, voice muffled by his pillow.

It took a long time for Llewyn to get to sleep. It was very distracting, having Caroline next to him. He kept feeling her shift slightly, hear her soft sighs and he would imagine how easy it would be to roll over and pull her into his arms, smell her perfume and kiss her neck, take comfort in her warmth. His hard-on was a constant, irritating distraction. He felt all of sixteen again, getting way too excited while kissing a girl in an abandoned classroom after school.

But the comfort of a real bed eventually got to him. It was amazing how nice it was to be cocooned in softness, to not have to struggle to find a comfortable position on a hard floor or park bench. He drifted off, but his dreams were tense and close, fraught with anxiety. He wouldn’t be able to recall any details upon waking, but the feelings were sharp and intense.

Llewyn woke with a start, breathing heavily. It took a moment to register there was a soft hand on his shoulder and that Caroline’s face was hovering above him, illuminated by the dim glow of orange streetlamps.

“Are you alright?” she said in a soft voice. Her hair was tangled around her head in a halo and she looked utterly beautiful.

“Fine,” he muttered sleepily, despite the sweat on his brow and his heart racing.

He was so out of sorts that he didn’t even notice the… situation… below the waist. But Caroline noticed. With a soft, _“Oh,”_ she blushed and looked away, hiding her face behind a pillow.

“Oh, fuck, sorry,” Llewyn mumbled, wishing he could just disappear.

“It’s OK,” she whispered, peeking at him from behind the pillow. “I don’t mind.”

He could only see the top parts of her cheeks, flushed pink. But she didn’t look angry.

“I should go…” Llewyn offered, ashamed of his inability to control his reactions. He went to sit up.

Caroline stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t go,” she said in a low voice, sliding closer.

Llewyn froze and then sunk slowly back onto the bed, letting her pet him. She ran a hand over his damp brow, pushing back his tangled curls. Llewyn couldn’t help his deep sigh, enjoying the affection more than he really should have. It was so light, so innocent.

But it didn’t stay innocent for long when she leaned in to kiss him. Llewyn melted under her kiss, his sleep fogged brain wondering if this could possibly be a dream, too perfect and arousing for reality. The kiss was light at first, just a teasing brush of lips that made Llewyn moan softly, his body tingling. Then she was kissing deeper and Llewyn’s hands found the soft curve of her waist, pulling her close. Holding her was better than he could have imagined. He could feel her warmth, her heartbeat. The smell of her skin was intoxicating. 

He was achingly hard by the time her hand found his cock, groping him through his boxers. Llewyn groaned and bit his lip, pushing into her hand greedily. He kissed down her neck as she fondled him, entranced by all that soft skin. He pushed a hand up her pajama shirt rashly to cup her breast, loving her small intake of breath. His heart was beating so hard it seemed to resound in his ears, but everything was her soft skin and gentle hands and it made his head swim.

There was a light tremor in Llewyn’s hands by the time Caroline had unbuttoned her pajama top and pushed his boxers down to fondle his bare cock. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like this. Like he mattered. It was like she actually wanted to touch him and it was like a dream. He moaned softly, sweat dampening his hair, biting his lip hard enough to hurt because he didn’t want to say something stupid he couldn’t take back. He felt so clumsy and unpracticed, hand shaking like he was a virgin all over again as he felt inside her panties, groaned at how wet she was. And she kept kissing him: on his neck, on the corners of her mouth, on his eyelids, on his chest. He’d forgotten sex could be like this. That it could be intimate and warm rather than a quick, desperate frenzy to scratch an itch.

Llewyn pushed into her, amazed at how warm and wet she was, amazed that she was so wet for him of all people. He groaned deeply, burying his face in the curve of her neck where she smelled sweetly of vanilla and the soft scent of her own body. They rocked together, her breasts pushed onto his chest as he held her hips, letting her roll over him like waves. Her weight covering him was not claustrophobic, but comforting like the embrace of warm water or the return of sunlight after a long winter. 

It was all over quicker than Llewyn would have liked and he burned in embarrassment, pressing his hot face to her chest as his breathing returned to normal. He could feel her heartbeat against his cheek, hard and strong and passionate.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, ashamed at his lackluster performance. She was probably regretting ever touching him.

“It’s OK,” she said softly, petting his hair.

She rolled off him and settled next to him, laying her head on his shoulder and Llewyn couldn’t leave things like that. His hand still shook as it slid down her body, stroking her soft curves, dipping below her pubic bone to feel her hot and slicker than ever.

Fear gripped his heart, and God, he was so, so stupid. They hadn’t used a condom and he had gotten so carried away he hadn’t even thought of it.

She must have sensed his sudden panic because she gently took his wrist and said, “Don’t worry. Nothing can happen.”

Whether it was true or not didn’t matter, Llewyn wanted to trust her. His fingers felt for her clit and rubbed in slow circles, kissing her neck and breasts as she moaned softly, twisting beside him. Llewyn wasn’t exactly confident in his abilities, not after so long, but he was determined to get her off. When he felt her tense and shake and she grabbed his wrist again in the throes of orgasm, he felt closer to her than ever. Like they had shared something more than just sex. He laid his head on her chest and listened to her heart beating, feeling more alive than he had in too long to remember. Caroline combed back his sweat dampened hair with her fingers, her heartbeat slowing to a soft, gentle rhythm as Llewyn drifted off to sleep.

 

Whatever he dreamed about, it must have been nice. He woke pillowed in warmth and content in ways he couldn’t properly identify. He rolled over, holding a downy soft pillow to his face. He was alone in bed. But he could still smell Caroline’s perfume on the sheets and he imagined he could feel the lingering warmth of her body beside him.

Blinking against the sunlight now pouring through the windows, Llewyn cracked open his eyes. He shook the sleep from his head and sat up, suddenly aware of his nakedness and smelling freshly brewed coffee in the air. He glanced around the room and found his clothes neatly folded on a chair, with his t-shirt and boxers right on top. Llewyn rolled out of bed and quickly pulled them on, still strangely embarrassed to be naked in Caroline’s apartment.

She must have heard him moving around because there was a light knock on the bedroom door and then she was poking her head in. She smiled brightly, as though she were so happy to see him.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. Despite it being first thing in the morning, she somehow looked neat and put together, wearing a pale pink dressing gown, her hair brushed and braided. She held two mugs of steaming coffee. “Extra sweet and extra light,” she said, holding one out to him.

“Thanks,” Llewyn muttered, and took a sip. It was delicious and he might have even enjoyed it without all the cream and sugar. It was surely better than the diner coffee he was used to.

“What do you feel like doing today?” she said as she very casually looped her arm in his as though it were incredibly natural. “It’s a beautiful day out.”

“I don’t care,” Llewyn said automatically, slightly distracted by the soft press of her body against his. “It doesn’t matter.”

Caroline looked taken aback. “Of course it matters,” she said.

“Oh,” he responded softly. She stared into his eyes earnestly and it felt like his heart had softened and expanded, like dough rising in the warm sun. “Then let’s go for a walk.”

**Author's Note:**

> The part where Caroline shares the poetry book with Llewyn was meant to be a reference to the Bob Dylan song "Tangled up in Blue":
> 
> Then she opened up a book of poems  
> And handed it to me  
> Written by an Italian poet  
> From the thirteenth century  
> And every one of them words rang true  
> And glowed like burning coal  
> Pouring off of every page  
> Like it was written in my soul from me to you
> 
> But there doesn't seem to be a consensus about who that poet is supposed to be. Personally, I like Petrarch for the poet. Except he's not thirteenth century. Honestly that's who I always imagined the part of the song to be about, so that's how I wrote it.


End file.
